Page:Poems PiattVol2.djvu/120

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A QUEEN AT HOME.
They know that the world is mine
(I am but a name to them,)
And they fancy its jewels shine
All over my garment's hem.

My face seems bright from afar
To their loyal eyes and trust:
But who looks too close at a star
Will find it is made of dust.

My friend, you have whiter bread;
My friend, you have redder wine,
And a fairer roof for your head,
Though beggar you be, than mine.

To the poor I give of my gold;
By the wounded I watch at night;
To the eyes of the dying I hold
A cross—not mine own—for a light.

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